


The Last Journey

by actuallyfeanor



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Fourth Age, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Light Angst, Old Friends, Post-Canon, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:34:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22607830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actuallyfeanor/pseuds/actuallyfeanor
Summary: In the autumn of the sixty-third year of the Fourth Age of Arda since the rising of the sun, king Éomer of Rohan fell ill, and knowing that this autumn might be his last, he bade his wife, Lothiriel of Dol Amroth, send word to his sister in Ithilien, for he wished to see her once again before he joined his forefathers. With the king at that time were two lords from the land of the Halflings. Great friends of Rohan were they, for one of them was Meriadoc Brandybuck, who rode with king Theoden to Gondor's aid in the War of the Ring and aided Lady Éowyn in slaying the Lord of the Nazgul …
Relationships: Faramir (Son of Denethor II) & Pippin Took, Merry Brandybuck & Pippin Took, Merry Brandybuck & Éomer Éadig, Merry Brandybuck & Éowyn
Comments: 5
Kudos: 23
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	The Last Journey

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kalirush](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalirush/gifts).



_In the autumn of the sixty-third year of the Fourth Age of Arda since the rising of the sun, king Éomer of Rohan fell ill, and knowing that this autumn might be his last, he bade his wife, Lothiriel of Dol Amroth, send word to his sister in Ithilien, for he wished to see her once again before he joined his forefathers. With the king at that time were two lords from the land of the Halflings. Great friends of Rohan were they, for one of them was Meriadoc Brandybuck, who rode with king Theoden to Gondor's aid in the War of the Ring and aided Lady Éowyn in slaying the Lord of the Nazgul …  
(from the Annals of the Kings of the Mark)_

Éowyn had grown old, her once golden hair turned as white as the simbelmynë on the barrows of her forefathers and her back bent with age, yet she still carried herself with the noble bearing of her youth, and the radiant smile that lit up her face when she turned to them was the same as it had always been.  
"Master Meriadoc, Master Peregrin, I am glad you at long last have found the time to visit these southern lands."

Age had left its mark on Faramir too, but graced as he was with the long life of the Dunedain, his back was somewhat less stooped than Éowyn's, his silvery grey hair still peppered with raven-black strands.  
"My friends! It has been far too long since we last had the pleasure of your company."

Pippin bowed, and he could see Merry do the same next to him.

"Alas, the heavy duties of the Thain have kept me busy these long years, but at last my son was ready to take up the mantle."

"What Pippin means is that Faramir got fed up with watching him do nothing but smoke and read, and took it upon himself to finally get some governing done," Merry laughed.

Éowyn too chuckled. "Ah, then he fares better than his namesake, who far too often can be found with his nose in a book." Her eyes met Faramir's as she spoke, and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Then all of a sudden Éowyn recalled what had brought them to Edoras, and a shadow seemed to fall upon her face.  
"Alas, would that we could have met under different circumstances, more suited to the joy of such a reunion. Would you be so kind as to show me to my brother?"

\---

Seven days Éowyn stayed by her brother's side, watching over him as his strength waned and the cold of death crept up on him. Pale and haggard, Lothiriel haunted Meduseld, flitting nervously from one room to another, seemingly unable to bring herself to stay with her dying husband, and yet equally unable to stay away. Only Faramir, her cousin, would she speak to. Elfwine, son of the king, a solemn man a little past fifty years of age, spent his days on horseback, roaming the fields surrounding Edoras, yet never straying too far from the city.

Often the two hobbits would find themselves summoned by the king when he was awake, and they would speak of past adventures and reminisce about the War of the Ring and the golden days of peace that followed it, and Éomer would ask them about the Shire and their lives there.

On the eighth day, Éomer stirred from an uneasy slumber and called his family and friends to him. Frail and shivering, he spoke with each of them in turn, bidding them farewell, offering advice to his son, mustering enough strength for a jest. That same night, the king died peacefully in his sleep.

\---

They laid him to rest next to his predecessors, and they sang there many laments in the language of the Mark. Though Merry and Pippin understood few of the words that were sung, the haunting melodies, like wind stirring leaves of grass on the plains and fields, spoke as clearly as any words about the grief of the singers.

In the evening they all gathered in the Golden Hall. There Éowyn rose from her seat and lifted her cup. "Today we drink in honour of my brother. A brave warrior and wise king, but more importantly, a good man. When Saruman's long shadow fell upon our land and his servants spread their venom in these very halls, Éomer fought for what his heart told him was right. When Gondor called for aid, he followed his king to war, fearless in the face of death. And when peace came, he picked up the crown from the battlefield and ruled with wisdom, justice and mercy. Today he takes his honoured place with our forefathers, with Eorl the Young and Helm Hammerhand and king Theoden who fell in the fight against the Enemy, and as the heroes of old welcome him home to their halls, we raise our cups and drink to the life that was. To Éomer king!"

A roar went up from the Rohirrim. From where he was seated, Merry could see tears glistening on Éowyn's cheek, but she stood tall and proud as everyone emptied their cups in honour of her brother.

Lothiriel spoke too, more softly than Éowyn, and yet her words seemed to touch the hearts of everyone in the room.  
"My husband won more than glory on that battlefield, when he rode to the aid of my countrymen. He won the undying loyalty of all those who fought by his side, because he shared in their victory, their sorrow, their fear and their bravery. Such were our years together too; we shared our joys and our sorrows, and though it all I could not have wished for a kinder or more honourable man. And I grieve now, for he is no longer with me. So let us drink in memory of king Éomer, and let us stand together in our grief and sorrow."

As the night went on, more speeches were made, for the king had been greatly loved by his people, and many wished to say their last farewells to him. Fair words were spoken, songs were sung, both sad and wistful ones, and cheerful tunes. But Merry soon found himself wishing for solitude, and so with a nod to Pippin, he slipped out of the Hall unnoticed. Outside the air was crisp. Stars dotted the dark violet night sky, and the quiet sounds of the night swallowed up the noise coming from within Meduseld. Merry seated himself on a stony ledge and breathed in the cool air that carried with it the sweet scent of hay and the smell of horses. 

After a while he became aware of the soft tread of feet behind him, and turning around he saw that Éowyn too had left the gathering inside the Hall. She seated herself next to him and they sat for a while in silence, lost in thought, wrapped up in their own grief.

Éowyn was the first to break the silence. "This feels like the end of an era. We are old now, who were young and eager for glory when we rode off to war, and our sons and daughters all grown up."

"Indeed. Sam is gone, west across the sea to search for Frodo, and so Pippin and I are the only ones left of that company of hobbits who departed from the Shire one autumn day, not knowing that we carried the fate of the world."

"Do you remember when we rode to Gondor together, all those years ago?"

"How could I ever forget?"

"I never expected this back then; I never thought I would live to have a child of my own and grow old together with the man I love. I sought death on the battlefield, and instead I was given a long and happy life, filled with hope."

"None of us expected this, I think. The Ring, the quest … it was only ever a fool's hope, and yet we dared to hope that it might work, and so it did in the end." Merry smiled at the thought. "Though the thirst for adventure never ended, though the quest itself did, and so Pippin and I decided to leave the Shire to Faramir and Théoden, and set off on a final journey of our own."

"And which way will that journey take you now?"

"Well," said Pippin, appearing behind them, followed by Faramir, "we were thinking that we might set out for Gondor after the Elfwine's coronation, to pay Strider a visit, since he seems to have grown lax in his letter writing these last few years. And I should very much like to see Bergil again, though I suspect he has grown quite tall since I last saw him."

"Then you are heartily welcome to Ithilien," said Faramir. "There will always be room for you in our house, however long you wish to stay."

As they spoke, Merry felt a familiar rush of excitement at the prospect of another journey. He started humming one of Bilbo's old walking songs under his breath, the words reminding him of days gone by. _Roads go ever on and on, under cloud and under star …_ He could almost see the road to Gondor stretching out ahead, like a thread of pure light showing him the way to old friends and new adventures.

**Author's Note:**

> I took the liberty of giving Merry's eldest, unnamed son the name Théoden, because it seemed appropriate.


End file.
